Runaway Wedding
by gracelove
Summary: Really can't give a summary. This is nothing like any of my other stories - I don't get Reba and Brock back together or anything, I just...well, you'll see! This ones all about Barbara Jean. One shot.


**This is just an idea I had. I'm not going into any more chapters, or go any deeper. If anyone would really like to add on, message me if you want to write a sequel!!**

"Barbara Jean Brooker….Hart. BJB…H. Mrs. Brock Hart. Barbara Jean Brooker…Hart?"

Barbara Jean was saying these names to herself in the bathroom mirror. No matter what she did, she couldn't find a way to say it to please her.

Today, Brock had come home from work and told her the news. "The papers have been signed!" Then he had pulled her in for a kiss. She had squealed with delight and put on the happiest face she always wore…but in truth, that was the hardest moment she ever lived through in her life.

Barbara Jean had been with many peoples husbands before, but…they'd never gotten her pregnant, asked her to marry them, divorced their current wife for her. And Brock seemed okay with it…when she was looking; when she turned away, she saw a layer of masque being peeled off his face. Beneath, she didn't know what was there. That expression was blank and passive, one she'd never encountered before. She was afraid to say anything. What if it made him mad? Was she such a bad mistress that he wouldn't be honest with her? Is this how their marriage would be like…?

"Stop worrying!" Barbara Jean told her reflection. "Everything will be fine…"

But how could she be sure? What could he possibly be worried about? She was all right, the pregnancy was going fine, she was perfectly ready to be a mother. Barbara Jean had always loved children.

Didn't Brock?

Of course he does! He has three children with a beautiful…Reba.

Was that it? Could it be Reba? Is she on his mind?

Barbara Jean had never considered this before, that Brock may still have some feelings for his now ex-wife. He didn't regret it, did he? The pregnancy, divorce…was he about to commit himself to a dishonest, loveless marriage because he had to, but still wanted Reba?

It would make sense. They'd been married for 20 year and had three great kids – how was she supposed to top that? Barbara Jean felt tears of panic being sprung into her eyes just at the thought. This was a lot of pressure she hadn't bet on at first. She thought she'd marry Brock, have the kid, and they'd live happily ever after and have more children, but that was only if things went well. What if she couldn't take Rebas place and he left _her_ too?

"Barbara Jean?"

She jumped. Quickly she wiped her eyes and checked them in the mirror. Clear. She opened the door and smiled at her concerned fiancé. "Hello, Brock, something wrong?"

"No, I just didn't know where you were – you doin okay?" he asked, still rather concerned.

"Of course! Yeah, I'm fine!" she beamed. He gently kissed her cheek and held her hand back to their room. He turned the lamp off and was asleep very quickly. Barbara Jean, however, lay awake for another hour, unable to close her eyes without images of Brock flashing over her eyelids, images where he ran to Reba and held her to him as tightly as he possibly could…

The days before the wedding past very quickly. Soon it was the eve of. No matter what Barbara Jean had told herself, how many ways she said her soon-to-be name in the mirror, nothing worked. Sometimes it hurt her to the point of tears, but only when Brock wasn't around. At those times, she would whisper a few words to the baby bump.

"Your Daddy doesn't mean to make me cry, baby," she would sniff. "He's a good man. And he loves you very much…and I think he loves me…"

"BJ?" Brock called, walking through the door. She hurried out to meet him, and the first thing she noticed was that it must have been raining outside. There was mud surrounding the heel and toe of his shoes.

"Hi, honey!" she smiled, her usual perky self once more, but she couldn't help but feel a twitch of annoyance that he didn't wipe his shoes on the rug. She shook it off, however, and went to give him a hug and kiss 'hello'.

When they broke apart, however, Brock had to frown a little. "BJ, have you been crying?"

"Huh? Oh, just a little…stupid Lifetime movie was on…" she lied quickly. Brock chuckled and kissed her cheek again. "But yeah, better now."

As they sat down for dinner, Barbara Jean again couldn't help but notice something that caused a pang of irritation. The moment Brock sat down, he went straight to shoving food in his mouth, not bothering to say a prayer with her.

She really wished he'd say a prayer with her. She was trying to maintain a relationship with God, didn't Brock want to be a part of it?

"So, how was your day?" Brock asked after swallowing his first mouthful. Barbara Jean was thankful he didn't chew with his mouth open, or talk with his mouth full, anyway.

"Pretty uneventful…not going anywhere," she shrugged.

"Doctors orders, honey, you shouldn't be driving," he smiled sympathetically. Barbara Jean just shrugged again.

"I guess. I want this to be done right from now on. But still, it wouldn't kill me just to drive once in awhile…"

"BJ…" Brock began to say. She looked up from her plate to see what it was he had started to say so seriously. To her surprise, he was wearing his…passive face. Barbara Jean had only seen that when he thought she wasn't looking; this must be serious, not about some silly driving thing.

What Brock wanted to say wouldn't come out. As he looked into those sweet eyes, he knew that he couldn't hurt her. If he lied…well, that would just be hurting himself. But he deserved that. So he just let out a smile and said, "Thank you. For everything you're doing…having my child, staying with me…it means a lot."

Barbara Jean returned the sentimental smile. "It brings me joy, Brock. I'm just glad that it means as much to you."

They went back to their meals, both ashamed. How could this go on? No two people could live like this forever, acting the complete opposite of how you felt, lying to someone you cared about. How could such a horrible thing possibly be the right thing – how could it possibly be rectifying a mistake?

'I can't believe we did this to Reba,' was the next thought to enter both of their minds. Each time they saw her, she looked a little more lonely, bitter, but they pretended not to notice it. Remorse was as easy for them to show as fear was to Reba.

As they ate in quiet, Barbara Jeans mind was revolving redundantly around this issue. Something had to be done for her to raise her child in a happy home, with a happy father. She couldn't live in a loveless marriage, but she felt that it could be helped. Maybe, if she tried, to she could love Brock.

But could he love her?

As soon as she had finished, her thoughts came to a standstill. She still had a lot to do…dishes, first. Then she had to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow: That they were packed for their honeymoon, that Brocks suit was ready, that every detail on the to-do list was checked….

Brock must have read the stress on her face because he immediately said, "Honey, how about I do the dishes tonight? You look dead on your feet."

"Oh, thank you, sweets!" she cooed. "That would be fantastic." He touched her cheek lightly, then picked up both of their plates and took them to the sink.

As he scrubbed the plates, the pulled out her checklist. _Roses? Bought. Doves? Dead. Ah, well. Dress? Ready. Brocks tux? Sigh, that's next. Kyra? Might come…. Reba? Not coming. _

How could she say she was all right with the wedding…but not want to come? Was it just embarrassing? Or did it…hurt?

"Brock," she said, interrupting the quiet. "I think we need Rebas blessing."

Brock met her determined gaze with his confused one. "Blessing? As in…permission?"

"No! I mean, not really…just…" Barbara Jean searched for the right words. She couldn't just come out and say 'I'm having second thoughts I think that, well, you still love Reba. So if she says it's cool than can't we just go on and have a happy life together? Maybe?' so she settled with:

"I think we could have done this a lot better and it has probably hurt her a lot, so, if I get her blessing I'll just feel more like…family. Plus," she added, sipping her water. "I don't want this to interfere with our friendship."

Brock did a mental eye-roll; of course it interfered with their friendship! "I'll talk to her, Barbara Jean, see if she's really okay with this. Will that make you feel better?"

Barbara Jean nodded, beaming. "Thank you, Brock. Could you go tonight?"

Brock looked up, surprised. "Tonight? Well…sure, BJ, if it'd make you happy…" _I owe you that. _

When Brock returned from Rebas, he assured her that his ex wife was only too accepting of the marriage and was "yeah, totally okay with it".

As much as she wanted to believe it, Barbara Jean just couldn't. Brock obviously still loved Reba. It was so plain to her now. Had he even done as she asked, gotten her blessing? Or just gone down to his work and putted in that miniature golf course in his office?

Questions, questions…way too many. There shouldn't be this much doubt, even if you're nervous about your wedding. If it was just coming on, well, that would be different. But ever since she'd found out she was pregnant, all the guilt just pushed out more and more questions like water crashing out of a dam and spreading out to a larger pool already flowing with unanswered dangerous questions.

She could barely sleep. She knew what she had to do, just to answer one little question: Was there a door between Brock and Reba?

The next day, she found herself in her white wedding gown, standing at Rebas backdoor. She was about to knock when she was overcome with a different kind of guilt: She feels horrible about not trusting Brock, and now here she is, double checking with his ex wife to see if he'd kept his word?

If she wanted this to work, she'd have to walk away, trust him. So instead of carrying on with the plan, she left.

_Trust him….she's okay with it. There's no door. He doesn't love her. Trust him._

When Barbara Jean came out to the lobby and saw Reba and Kyra, her heart soared. She was there! She wanted to be part of it…yes, it had been right to trust Brock.

Her heart sank when she saw Reba staring to go. She tried to change her mind.

"I think we both know why you're here…" she beamed when the bridesmaids were down the aisle.

"Because Kyra can't drive..?" Reba raised her red eyebrows. Barbara Jean just sighed, not showing the fear that was thrust back into her.

Then, as she was about to take that step into the aisle, a ripping sound was made from behind her. She turned in shock to see her train split, and Reba gaping at the large hole at her feet.

"Oh…no, it's a sign…I knew it!" she whispered. Reba didn't seem to hear her, she just said, "Hurry – I have a needle and thread here – sit!" she immediately commenced to stitching the train, setting it on her thigh.

The bride just sat in panic, hoping against hope that there was nothing in _Bad Wedding Signs _(a book she'd seen at the store) about the ex wife stepping on the train and ripping it right as the wedding march began. To her surprise, Reba was done quicker than she expected, then almost pushed her out the doorway.

Barbara Jean felt a tug on her dress. She ignored it; it was probably just the nerves getting to her, making her imagine some sort of spirit calling her back. No, she would follow through_. Step._ It was too late…_Step_. These problems would just work themselves out. _Step._ They just needed to try_. Step._

When she was finally down the aisle, everyone sitting down, she turned to see her new family's faces. They were probably happy…hopefully, at least, or at least they would pretend to be.

But to her astonishment, they weren't even looking at her. They were staring at something behind her, eyes wide, jaws on the floor. She turned, too.

Reba was in the middle of the chapel aisle, the end of the train stitched across the thigh of her pants. Her cheeks were painted with a lovely flush.

"Um…give me a minute," she muttered to the chapel at large, which was gaping at her, and began digging around in her purse. Finally she pulled out a pair of scissors, and, very carefully, cut her jeans around the veil as close as she could without damaging the satin. "Sorry…" she said, smiling nervously, holding up a hand in farewell. Then she cast a look at Barbara Jean, smiling encouragingly. _Go on_…_sorry!_, she mouthed, then left, hole in her thigh and all.

Barbara Jean beamed. That must have been her blessing…that was good enough.

Then she turned and faced her future husband, where she saw something nothing could have prepared her for.

Brock was staring at the place that Reba had disappeared, his lips parted slightly. His eyes, those big blue eyes, were misty. Barbara Jean couldn't believe the proof before her eyes: He would never get over her. He was watching the woman he would always love walk away, sacrificing everything for him to be happy with someone else.

"Dearly beloved…" the preacher began.

Barbara Jean tore her eyes from Brocks heartbroken face and looked at the speaker. "Excuse me…um…" she cast her eyes a the floor, knowing that everyone was giving her confused stare. She gulped. She'd always imagined people looking at her admiringly, adoringly at her wedding…now they were giving her that stupid look she always got. That "Huh, what's wrong with you?" look.

"Brock," she said, rather quietly. He was looking at her very seriously, concerned. "Its wrong. I'm sorry…but I can't."

She couldn't spare a look for anyone else, just pivoted and ran, dropping the flowers as she went.

As soon as she was outside, the weight of her belly caught up with her and she slowed. Tears were flowing down her face, but they weren't of despair – more of panic ended by reckless relief, sadness ended by a chance for happiness. She wasn't sure where she was going…she just had to get away. She started walking away as quick as she could, already tiring when-

"Barbara Jean!" She turned. Brock was running to her. "What are you doing?"

Barbara Jean wiped the tears from her eyes and stared up at him. "I'm not marrying you just because we had a wild night. I don't love you, and you love Reba."

Brocks eyes asked it for him. _You know?_

"Brock, it's obvious!" she sighed exasperatedly. "Your child deserves loving parents…I'll give you visitation. I'll give you time but I'm giving you this chance to make things right with the woman you love."

He was speechless. Finally he sighed in defeat, then put his hand in his pocket. "C'mon," he said.

Barbara Jean scoffed in disbelief. What was wrong with him? "Brock!"

"The doctor said no driving!" he looked at her like she was crazy. "I'll drive you wherever, but you're not getting behind the wheel this late in your pregnancy!"

Through the tears, she smiled and laughed a little. The two climbed into the car and he took her to the condo so she could change and pack. Then, that night, Barbara Jean Brookers cab was in front of her old home.

Brock carried her two suitcases and put them in the trunk. He still couldn't believe how this day had turned out…it was completely opposite of how he'd imagined it. He just wondered if Reba would, or could, take him back.

"You sure you'll be okay?" he asked Barbara Jean as he helped her into the seat. She smiled warmly up at him.

"I'm sure, Brock. You?"

He nodded, returning the smile. "Keep in touch, BJ."

"You, too. Call me when you and Reba get remarried, okay?" she added, winking. Brock laughed in his throat, wondering if he ever could do that.

"Goodbye, Brock."

"Bye."

With that, Brock and Barbara Jean parted ways forever, not knowing what was going to happen or how to handle it when it did, but knowing for certain that it was a million times better than what could have been.

"Ya know, miss," she heard the cab driver say gruffly. "You're the third break-up and run today? Big jerk, that one…leaving you in this condition."

"Nah," she assured him. "I'm leaving him, aren't I? I'm in the cab."

"With a baby on the way," he reminded her. "Big jerk."

Barbara Jean had to smile, but shook her head. "Only if he doesn't work his butt off to get her back."


End file.
